Sea green for real with glinting sunlight catching the tops of the swell. Waves crashing intently against golden stones and ivory shells. The sea approaches the shoreline as a diagonal, bearing brown seaweed in clumps and depositing it on the edge, where water meets earth.

It is off-putting because of the familiar smell of seaweed rotting like dead carcasses of sea creatures from down, down deep, as the ocean churns up sea plant life with every dragging wave. It’s not so bad and only the consequence of the incoming tide. The brown rafts of weed queue up to land on the incoming beach, like airplanes circling the airport and gently bourn up onto the rest on the runway of the shore.

Swimming is pleasant as ever, and not cold. The swell bobs the body as a small cork in a huge glass of sparkling champagne, bringing cheer to the spirits and the ability to forget.

Meeting the seaweed clumps is disconcerting and they feel stringy to the touch and almost solid who grasped. It is easy to brush them away like troubles on a sunny day.